The Eternal
by Nymph of Ogygia
Summary: Thousands of years ago, an ancient magic was bestowed upon four mortal lineages by divine powers. Scattered over the globe through the centuries, the descendants must now come together to defeat a growing darkness....
1. Prologue

**THE ETERNAL  
Prologue: The End of the Day  
  
_by Calypso_**

  
  


*****   
  
Pharos  
Alexandria, Egypt  
The Kalends of Quinctilis  
47 B. C.   
  
*****

The night was still and dark. There was no moon and the stars were hidden behind scurrying black clouds. No breeze disturbed the silence and the sea along Alexandria was unusually calm, without even an occasional wave lapping into the harbor. 

In particular, the island of Pharos in the middle of Alexandria's harbor had a very hushed, mysterious air about it. A great fire burned unattended at the top of a stone building upon the tiny island, guiding ships safely into the harbor's waters. No ships, however, were anywhere near Egypt that night.

Suddenly, the guiding fire went out in total silence. A lone figure appeared before the building. Stealthily, the person entered and, with the wave of her hand, created a floating orb of dull, yellow light. A woman's face, weary but set with determination, was accented by the weak light. She was young, perhaps twenty to twenty-five years old, but her dark eyes had an ancient, weighted look to them. The woman was clearly Macedonian in origin, with a prominent nose and wider eyes than native Egyptians.

She wore a simple linen garment which bulged with the roundness of her pregnancy. There were no sandals on her feet and the only sign of her high status was the gold torque, outlined with turquoise stones, fastened around her neck. 

The woman breathed heavily, wincing with pain every now and then. The kohl around her eyes was smeared, and her dark, fringed hair was in disarray. With trembling hands, she withdrew a crystal phial hung around her neck with a thin piece of twine from within her garment. Gasping with pain now, she quickly popped the lid off the phial and swallowed the contents. Her contractions eased, and she leaned heavily against one of the stone walls. 

The woman labored long through the night, concealed in the dark shadows within the Lighthouse of Alexandria. This child would be the second of two; a child that must be kept secret from her lover, from her husband, and from her people. She had the vision of this child the week preceding the birth of the first twin. It had been little more than a week between the births, but she had expected that; her dream had revealed all. 

Finally, at dawn, a loud wail broke the near silence of Pharos. The woman was exhausted; her skin glistened with perspiration, and her dark eyes were weary, but she smiled faintly and held her newborn son in her arms.

"Damion Lysander," she whispered. "My son; the true possessor of the ancient magic, my true heir. Your brother may inherit the throne, but you... you inherit the _magic_."

The babe quieted, as if knowing this was an important moment for his mother to speak. She smiled again, her lip trembling as she did, and the tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

"We are special, my child. You and I have a wonderful gift, _the_ gift." Her voice was barely audible but she rambled on hoarsely. "But we must keep it secret. Your father would condemn us, my throne would be lost…The past has taught us that there are those who do not take to our kind. Those who are without the Gift; the _baroses_. They think magic is the performances of their priests during rites to their gods. But they are wrong. Those are simply acts, barose illusions. It is no real magic," she spat the last words, an angry gleam in her eyes. "They dare call our sorcery, the _true_ magic, evil, supplied by the demons of Duat. They are _fools_!" 

She paused and inhaled deeply, regaining her composure. After a few moments, in which Damion Lysander looked up at her with wide eyes without making a sound, she continued.

"The Ancient magic is in you. It is in your very blood, your flesh, and your bones. It will protect you as it has protected those who have discovered its worth before us and those after us who will gain greater power than we can imagine. The baroses, they are numerous and we are few. We are power, but we must conceal it or be destroyed by those who do not understand. You and I, we are the only ones left in this land. There are more of our kind, but they are secreted in the far West and the far East, in places beyond the borders of maps. They remain hidden in the secret realms, inconspicuous to the eye and mind of the common people.

"I must send you to such a place, for the sake of your own life. You must learn our ancient art and you will be great and powerful. Of that I am sure." She paused once more, choking back a shuddering sob. "I cannot come with you, but you shall be taken care of. My dreams assure me of such and they have never misguided me."

She abruptly stopped speaking and assumed a regal pose, her back straight and head held high. Holding her son in hands stretched toward the heavens, she murmured in a tongue unlike any heard in the land.

"_Gnin reald nathgil fomla ereht oteri fyb e ehtog_!"

A line of light blue flames shot through the air and remained suspended in midair in front of the woman and her child. She swiftly kneeled, the child still held before her. In one fluid motion she thrust the child into the flickering line of flames and drew back, empty-handed. There was a burst of blinding white light that filled the lighthouse and vanished. Nothing remained there now but the woman, still on her knees and crying softly.

"I love you, Damion," she said softly. A light wind picked up and blew through the lighthouse, carrying away the nearly soundless words.

The woman rose slowly, as though the effort of standing was too much. She walked out of the lighthouse, her bare soles smarting from the rough stone beneath her feet. The sun had risen but there was no one yet in the harbor to witness her. She gracefully waved her hands across each other in front of her chest and was gone.


	2. Chapter One

**THE ETERNAL  
  
Chapter One: Sad Clown  
  
_by Calypso_**

  


*****   
  
Left Bank  
Paris, France  
Second of March  
1896  
  
*****

He was dressed shabbily, in black trousers that were much too short, revealing mismatched stockings, one striped red and white, the other solid white and held up with red suspenders. His black and white striped shirt was also a size too small, leaving an inch of bare skin between his sleeves and his white gloves. A red beret was perched at an angle over his short, dark-brown hair. The harlequin's face was painted completely white to match his gloves, though his features were highlighted with black. Long, narrow diamonds were painted around his eyes, and black paint around his mouth gave him a permanently exaggerated expression of grief.

The mime gracefully performed his silent acts, every now and then gesturing vigorously to a hat on the ground in front of him. Most passersby didn't stop to watch the street artist but tossed a coin or two in the hat as they hurried by. Only a little girl watched as he parodied climbing a ladder only to fall down moments later. Each time he fell, he immediately leapt to his feet and began to climb again.

"_Callia_!" A woman's voice snapped from behind the little girl. "What on _earth_ are you thinking of? You are not to leave my side when we are out! You are but six years old; anyone could have snatched you away!"

"But, mother..." Callia protested as the woman led her away. "I was watching that clown! Why does he look so sad?"

The woman ignored her daughter as she squinted through the crowd of people, apparently trying to decide where to go. She was a very tall woman, with blonde hair neatly curled and pinned under her gray hat. Her skirt and petticoat were also gray and she had an altogether severe look about her.

Her daughter was dressed similarly, though without the bustle her mother also had with her skirt. Outward likenesses ended there. Callia had long, straight dark hair and bright blue eyes as opposed to her mother's brown ones. The only physical feature Callia seemed to have received from her mother was her pale, oval-shaped face.

While her mother stood on the street's corner, deliberating which course to take, Callia tugged on the handbag in her mother's arm and took out a large, black camera with a snout-like lens. Directing it towards the mime, she snapped a photograph. The camera emitted a light pink puff of smoke that smelled faintly of roses.

"_What_ are you _doing_?" her mother hissed, finally noticing her. She snatched the camera from Callia's hands and stuffed it inside her bag. Leaning down very close to Callia's ear, she spoke in a soft tone.

"You _know_ better than to use that in a street full of these Muggles! What if one of them had noticed? _I_ would have had to appear before a council to explain! I knew having that device was a bad idea but that man just never listens to logic."

She straightened up now, still muttering about men and their whims. A thin line appeared between her eyebrows, giving her young face a slightly worn look. "Always trust a man to come up with such foolishness, oh, I told him not get her that device, I said she was not old enough to be responsible for it, but what do I know..."

Ignoring this new tirade, Callia simply skipped along at her mother's side, clutching her hand and observing her surroundings. They passed a very tall building that had been constructed when Callia was just a babe. _Eye-full Tower_, she thought vaguely to herself. She had heard her father speak favorably of it, though her mother seemed to think it defaced the beauty of her native city.

Her mother's pace quickened as they left the more crowded streets. They were now in a shadier district, and the people that passed were few and far between. Callia clung more tightly to her mother's hand and ceased her skipping at once. The ramshackle buildings loomed threateningly over the narrow street, with boarded up doors, smashed windows, and decaying facades. Thin, mangy cats meowed loudly from dilapidated porches as they passed, stretching themselves to a stand as they watched the pair with yellow, unblinking eyes.

Callia's mother stopped abruptly in front of a particularly pitiful looking building. It was an old, abandoned shop with two stories. Letting her skirts drag through the dirt that made up the yard, Callia's mother marched straight up to the front door. She rapped smartly on it and announced herself.

"Eleanor Fae Lyle, accompanied by daughter."

Soundlessly, the door, despite fact that it seemed to be nailed shut with boards. Eleanor ushered her daughter inside and the door shut, once again without a sound.

Callia gazed around the room with awe. It looked infinitely larger than she would have guessed from the outside, and nearly every inch of it was covered in towering stacks of books and scrolls. Here and there was the occasional magical oddity topping the piles: dark detectors of all kinds, cameras similar to Callia's, parchment and quills, a sack of Floo powder, and even a small cauldron.

The door they had just come in from suddenly opened once more, but instead of revealing the street, a man came down a flight of rickety stairs. 

The man was very old, with neatly trimmed, though thinning, white hair and thick eyebrows. He had no facial hair, which was unusual for a grown wizard. His eyes were a pale, icy blue but they twinkled kindly. He smiled pleasantly at Callia and spoke in deep, authoritative voice.

"I have not seen you since you were just eight weeks old," he said. "You had much less hair then."

Callia giggled but still hid shyly behind her mother. Eleanor frowned at her but turned her attention to the man.

"_Bon jour_, Monsieur Bérard," Eleanor said formally, inclining her head slightly.

Monsieur Bérard smiled broadly at her. "No need to act so stiff with me, Eleanor! Why, I watched you grow up and your parents before you! She had even less hair than you as a baby," he added, directing his last comment to Callia. Eleanor drew her mouth into a tight line, though Callia suspected her mother was not as stern as she acted with this elderly man.

"I suppose, by the look of things, that this is not a casual visit?" he continued, looking back to Eleanor. "Please, come up to my office, and we may discuss what you are doing back in France and without Cepheus." He turned and walked back upstairs, Callia and Eleanor following closely behind.

The upstairs was much tidier, though still slightly cluttered. One long room comprised Monsieur Bérard's office, and it looked much nicer than the building's outside and first floor. The dark wood floor was highly polished, and bright tapestries hung around the door and windows. Floating pale blue orbs lit up the room.

A large desk, with an enormous blue quill on top of it, stood at the opposite side of the room. Eleanor and Monsieur Bérard made their way to it, conversing in low tones. Callia stopped halfway to examine a huge, silver-gilded mirror hanging on the wall. The ornate frame was topped with a pair of crossed silver wands shooting three stars apiece.

The reflection that stared back at Callia suddenly began to morph, and a thick mist filled the space around the blurred mirror image. The figure instantly snapped into focus, and a tall, dark-haired woman appeared, wearing robes so dark blue they looked black. She smiled down at Callia, though her brown eyes glittered sadly.

"Callia! Come, _ma cherie_!" Eleanor called. Callia turned and nodded, then looked back at the mirror. The mysterious woman and the mist were gone, and only Callia's own face looked back quizzically at her. Tearing herself away from the mirror, she hurried across the room to where her mother was sitting in a chair opposite of Monsieur Bérard. Callia climbed into her mother's lap and wriggled around to find a comfortable position. Eleanor gave her a reproving look but began to twine her fingers through Callia's long hair affectionately.

"As I was saying," Monsieur Bérard began once Callia had settled, "I do think you ought to give Cepheus another chance. He is a good man."

Eleanor's face tightened and Monsieur Bérard sighed and said, "Very well. I will take care of finding lodgings for you and Callia."

"It is not necessary, Monsieur," Eleanor replied smoothly. "I've already arranged it all. We are to stay in an inn in the Ruelle Enchantée. All that is left is to arrange for Callia to be schooled here in France rather than at Hogwarts."

Monsieur Bérard nodded. "I see you have every detail worked out. I should have expected no less. We shall simply put her in the Beauxbatons enrollment record, and it will all be taken care of."

He cleared his throat and concentrated his look on the large quill on his desk. 

"Rise and take note!" The quill immediately hovered above the desk, its tip poised in thin air. 

"Primary guardian, state your full name and city of residence," Monsieur Bérard continued in businesslike tones.

"Eleanor Fae Lyle, resident of Paris." The quill wrote the exchange furiously in the air.

"Future pupil's date of birth."

"October fifteenth, in the year eighteen-ninety," Eleanor answered promptly.

"Callia, now, please state your full name," Monsieur Bérard said, his tone softer now. Callia sat up straight, eager to answer in an important, official tone as her mother had.

"Callia Tempest Ravenclaw."

*****   
  
The Burrow  
Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, U.K.  
Christmas Day  
2005  
  
*****

It was an unusually warm day for December in Britain. All snow that had fallen that month immediately turned to gray slush. Instead of snow, Christmas day brought erratic drizzles of cool rain. Despite the dreary weather, spirits were high at the Burrow.

"No dark activity in months, maybe You-Know-Who has finally realized he's no match for Dumbledore," Molly Weasley said cheerfully to three young women sitting around the Burrow's kitchen table with her. There was her own red-haired daughter, and two daughter-in-laws, one dark and exotic, the other blonde and uncommonly pretty.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ginny Weasley said darkly. "He won't give in until he's completely destroyed."

She sighed, and all four women stared contemplatively out the window at the rain. After a long silence, Molly took a sip of her tea and smiled at the dark-haired woman on her left.

"Neema, how are you feeling, dear? Have you and Bill picked names yet?"

Neema grinned and patted her belly, which was just starting to become round with her child. "Not quite yet," she answered in a thick Egyptian accent. "We have decided on Jonathon Tau for a boy, but Bill will not discuss girls' names with me."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Typical. Don't worry, Neema, he'll come around." From her tone it was clear that Ginny intended to personally bring her eldest brother around.

"I certainly hope so. Did you have this problem before Elisabeth was born?" Neema directed her question to the blonde woman.

Fleur Delacour Weasley smiled triumphantly. "Not at all," she replied in near-perfect English. "I simply decided upon the names I liked, and he agreed."

Ginny smirked. "He probably knew better than to annoy a pregnant woman. Especially after seeing how Mum was with the twins, Ron, and me."

Molly frowned. "I was never irritable or irrational during my pregnancies."

"That's not the way Dad tells it," came a new voice. George Weasley grinned as leaned against the doorframe. "By the way, Fleur, I think Perce is ready to go. He's making impatient noises at his watch."

"I am not!" Looking utterly indignant, Percy came up behind his younger brother, frowning. "We do need to get along though, if you want to make it to your parents."

"I'll be along in a moment. Where's Elisabeth?" Fleur said, as she finished her tea and got up from the table.

"With my father and Fred, outside. They're on their sixth round of 'Happy Birthday.' Six rounds for six years." Percy rolled his eyes but smiled slightly. Even he couldn't be too uptight on his own daughter's birthday.

Fleur sighed. "They had better not give her any more sweets. She has already had enough to last her until she turns seven." 

"Or at least until tomorrow, eh?" George winked and left the room. 

"Gather our things; I will fetch Elisabeth," Fleur said briskly to Percy, as she followed George out of the room. Percy sniffed at being ordered about by his wife, but began to collect the presents Elisabeth had left trailing all over the Burrow.

The rain had stopped by the time Fleur went outside, and two ratty Muggle umbrellas lay abandoned by the door. A tiny girl with clear blue eyes and long shining red hair ran past. She was a delicate, fair girl, nearly a replica of Fleur herself.

"Elisabeth!" Fleur called as the tiny girl ran out of sight around the house. "We need to leave soon! Come _here_!" 

"Catch me first!" Elisabeth squealed, peeking around the corner before running off again. 

"Elisabeth Anne Weasley, we haven't got time for this!" Fleur pursed her lips and stayed exactly where she was. Soon enough, Elisabeth came around from the other side of the house, skidding straight into her mother's outstretched arms. 

"Right." Fleur ungracefully held her squirming daughter under one arm. "Now we need to find your father and say our farewells to your grandparents and aunts and uncles."

Fred and Arthur Weasley walked into the front yard, a small, green car trailing silently after them. It stopped in front of the house, and its trunk popped open of its own accord. Arthur stopped and smiled broadly at Fleur and Elisabeth when he saw them.

"Fleur! Did you see this newest charm we've put on the car?" he asked her enthusiastically. "It will roll on to wherever you tell to without you even having to start it!"

Fleur smiled at her father-in-law indulgently. "Very useful, I am sure. We do need to leave soon. Thank you so much for letting us borrow it."

Fred grinned and yelled towards the house. "Oi! They're making their escape soon, Mum, better come see them off!"

Fleur let Elisabeth down as Percy came outside, followed by the rest of the Weasley family. Ron and Charlie, however, were both absent from the party. They, Harry, and Hermione were spending the holiday in Romania with Hagrid. 

Percy grumbled as he loaded the trunk of the car while Fleur and Elisabeth said goodbye to his family. "I still think we ought to take Floo or a portkey," he muttered to Fleur as they settled their daughter in the car's backseat. "They're both much quicker than the F.E.S.R." 

"What's the F.E.S.R.?" Elisabeth asked her grandfather Weasley as he leaned through the car's backdoor to give her one last hug. 

"French-English Sorcerous Route, sweetie," Arthur answered, smiling. "It's that invisible road that goes over water-- you remember, you go over it to see your grandparents in France." Arthur then pulled a bag from his cloak and looked warily at Fleur and Percy. They were settling themselves in the front seat now, arguing about transportation.

"You know I do not want her travelling by Floo or portkey yet!" Fleur was saying. "She's still too young for that."

"It's perfectly safe..." Percy started as Arthur looked back at his only grandchild. 

"Here. More birthday sweets! Don't tell them though." Arthur winked as he gave Elisabeth the bag and closed the door. She immediately hid it in the folds of her cloak and stealthily snuck the sweets to her mouth one at a time as the car rolled out the Burrow's yard.

"If you don't like it, I will drive!" Fleur snapped from the passenger seat. 

"All I said was that we have better ways of traveling!" Percy looked sideways at his wife, shaking his head.

"And what would happen if she happened to get out at the wrong grate or let go of the portkey en route?" Fleur demanded, crossing her arms.

"Elisabeth's a perfectly intelligent girl, I'm sure she could get through fine."

"Well, what if she should become ill from such whirlwind travels?"

Elisabeth immediately began to feel ill at her mother's words. The combination of traveling by car and all the sweets she had eaten made her stomach turn nauseatingly. She moaned and clutched her stomach.

Fleur turned around immediately at the sound and Percy gave her a concerned look through the rearview mirror.

"Just lie down, _ma petite chou_. Close your eyes and try to sleep."

Fleur began to softly sing a French lullaby, ignoring Percy's low murmurs of "See, even in Muggle transports..."

Elisabeth did as her mother told her. The bewitching melody washed over her and she was soon drifting....

*****   
  
_Dreamland_   
  
*****

She felt somehow detached from the scene. Not quite a spectator, but at the same time not part of it either. It was almost as if she weren't there at all but witnessing it through Pensieve -- and perhaps she really _wasn't _there.

Everything seemed hazy and faraway. Sounds were soft and distant and everything looked clouded over with some mist of thousands of years ago. 

There was a huge structure sprawled out in the foggy distance. It had towering white pillars, gleaming luminously in the twilight and a rather powerful air about it. The edifice was a thousand times more beautiful than the finest ancient Roman temple, but also a thousand times more intimidating than any mortal place of worship.

The distant building slowly faded into a room, so naturally that the transition was hardly noticeable. It was a rather small alcove, open to the darkening sky at one side but impressive nonetheless. Perhaps the impressiveness came from the four beings gathered there. Beings was the correct term to describe them: they looked human in all respects, but there was something very inhuman about each of them. The four seemed to emanate something ethereal and majestic, an awesome power glowing in their very skin. It was enough to bring any mortal to their knees with a bowed head -- had the mortal been existent enough in their presence to do so.

There were three women and one man in the group. The sole male stood slightly apart from his companions, leaning casually, though with complete grace, on a marble rail and looking out to stars just beginning to glimmer. He, like the rest of the group, was dressed in a fine woolen chiton, though his fell to just above his knees whereas the women wore theirs long enough to expose only their feet. His dress was also simpler, unadorned with any patterns or extra pieces of garment. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was a very light brown, and tousled curls framed his dark, handsome face. He had a wide nose and large lips, curled into a slight smile. Tiny wings, fluttering silently, were affixed to his sandals. 

The tallest of the women was just barely shorter than the man was. She too had brown hair, though it was wound up and out of the way beneath a silver helmet engraved with an owl. She wore a red cloak, fastened at one shoulder, over her white embroidered chiton. On her feet, she wore a pair of sturdy brown sandals. A smug, though not unbecoming, look was upon her face. She clearly was the leader of the small group gathered.

A much shorter woman with jet-black hair glared suspiciously at the man. She looked strong and fierce despite her small size. A dark green cloak was thrown around her shoulders, and her hair was tied away from her face. A bow and quiver of arrows were strapped onto her back. One hand tapped impatiently against her thigh as she listened to the tall woman.

The last woman was the same height as the huntress but had light golden hair and pale skin that contrasted strikingly with her companions. Her garments were dark blue rather than white and she had a slightly lighter blue mantle around her arms, her white shoulders exposed. A profoundly sad expression seemed to be permanently etched into her features.

"You are sure we may _truly_ trust him?" the huntress asked doubtfully, shooting another suspicious look at the man.

"I am certain of it," the tall woman responded. "He is completely neutral in all Olympian affairs. We also needed his resourcefulness in leading the others away from this place this eve."

The man finally stirred from his reverie and fixed the huntress with an unreadable look. "I am just as eager as you are for this little revenge, though perhaps for different reasons. You are tired of your brothers and especially your father," he paused, glancing at the blonde woman, "and even your husband, giving themselves more freedom than you are allowed to experience. I am simply not as happy as the messenger boy as I might be."

He frowned deeply and lapsed back into silence, turning once more towards the night sky.

"We all understand our roles this night, I am sure," the tall woman said sharply before the huntress could say anything. "However let me say it again. We four shall each bless one mortal each with a divine gift, as Prometheus did with his gift of fire. Our father sets himself above all but we shall bring those lowly mortal beings a bit closer to his pedestal."

The other three nodded and the tall woman beckoned for them to retreat wholly into the alcove as she herself stepped to the marble rail and looked down, as though seeking something lost. Holding one hand out before her, palm facing down, she kept her gaze focused on the lands below. 

"I grant thee, mortal, in the name of Athene, a conjointment to the past. Great wisdom shall be yours if you listen to the voices of ages before you. Thou and thy progeny shall carry this gift until the end."

She stepped back, and the smallest woman stepped forward with unusual boldness. Holding her head high, she repeated Athena's position.

"I grant thee, mortal, in the name of Persephone, dominion over the demons in my husband's kingdom. I am the Queen of the Underworld against my will, so thou and thy progeny shall be able to control the creatures of Hades as well as their king may."

She stepped back with a look of quiet satisfaction upon her face. The huntress sprang forward and held her hand out as the others had before.

"I grant thee, mortal, in the name of Artemis, an affinity for all inhuman beasts of your earthly realm. They will trust you more than other humans. Thou and thy progeny shall always carry this gift."

She stepped back, and the man slowly stepped forward. He held both his palms outward and down and peered at the earth below.

"Mortal, I grant thee, in the names of Hermes, the gift of prophecy. Thou and thy progeny shall always have some foresight and you shall have to use it wisely. Use it well."

He stepped back as Artemis gave him a horrified look. "What have you _done_? They cannot bear to know what lies ahead of them! They cannot even bear what they are faced with today!"

"It will fade with the generations," Hermes answered back, scowling. 

They continued to argue, Persephone trying to mediate. Only Athena did not join the discussion. Instead, she looked to the corner were the unseen, intangible witness watched. The goddess smiled and spoke softly:

"Elisabeth."

The dream was slowly fading.

_"Elisabeth."_

All that she could see now was the goddess in all her divine splendor.

_"Elisabeth..."_

*****   
  
Delacour Chateau   
Basse-Normadie, France   
Christmas Day   
2005   
  
*****

"Elisabeth. Wake up, sweetie, we're nearly there."

Elisabeth slowly opened one eye, then the other, and sat up. Her father looked at her over his seat and smiled. He and her mother had switched seats as Elisabeth slept. 

"Nice to see you join us again," Percy said, reaching back his hand and ruffling her hair. Elisabeth squealed and immediately straightened it out with her hand. Percy laughed. "The women in this family are entirely too concerned about their hair."

With identical snorts of indignation, Fleur and Elisabeth both tossed their heads airily. Neither replied, however, for they had just pulled up to an impressive white chateau. It had a rather old-fashioned look about it, though everything gleamed as though it were brand new. 

The huge lawn was a lush green and several large, colorful birds stood in it, eyeing the car calmly. Even as Percy, Fleur, and Elisabeth walked near, the birds did not take flight.

Before the family could knock, the elaborately carved door burst open and a petite blonde woman threw her arms around Fleur.

"Fleur! _Ma cherie_! Come in, come in! And where is the little one? Ah, there is _ma petite princesse_!" Charlotte Delacour beamed at them as they stepped inside.

"Hello, grandmére," Elisabeth said, smiling. "Where is grandpére?"

Charlotte frowned as she looked around the crowded, noisy room. "Gabrielle!" she called. "Where is _pére_?"

Gabrielle Delacour appeared a moment later, shrugging her shoulders. She looked very much like her mother and sister with a slightly rounder face.

"I have not seen him, _maman_."

Just then an elderly man shuffled to the group, smiling dazedly. 

"There you are, Gaston!" Charlotte linked her arm though her husband's and smiled indulgently at him. "What is it? Did you forget our celebration today? Look, Fleur, Percy, and Elisabeth are here. Gaston, see, your daughter and granddaughter."

The man didn't say anything but continued to smile. Gaston Delacour looked much older than his wife, though she was in fact fifteen years his senior. 

Charlotte shook her head and whispered to Percy, "His mind hasn't been well lately, I am afraid. He barely remembers the names of his own family members. _Cher pauvre_."

Charlotte turned to Fleur then and spoke to her in rapid French. Fleur nodded and looked at Percy.

"My aunts want to talk to Elisabeth and me. We will be back in a moment."

"Fine, fine," Percy replied as they walked off. He frowned to himself, feeling very much out of place in this room full of blond French-speakers. Gabrielle laughed, guessing his thoughts.

"I am sure we are not so very different from your family. Just as loud and excitable." She winked at him as she gestured around. "And how are things in England? Still with the Ministry?"

Percy puffed his chest out proudly. "I do a bit for the Ministry, though Fleur and I mostly work for Dumbledore. He places a lot of value on us, you know."

"And how is... " Gabrielle hesitated for a moment. "How is Harry?"

Percy raised an eyebrow in surprise before he could stop himself. "Fine, just fine. Very busy, he is. Right now he's in Romania with my brothers Charlie and Ron and a couple of friends."

Gabrielle nodded, looking interested. Percy knew from Fleur that Gabrielle had developed a slight crush on Harry ever since he saved her from the merpeople during the Triwizard Tournament, but he had no idea that she was still interested in him.

Across the room, Elisabeth stood silently by her mother, listening to the adults converse in French. Elisabeth had a working knowledge in the language but could not keep up with the pace of the conversation. At last, one of her great-aunts looked down at her and spoke in English.

"Elisabeth, how would you like to see your maman's grandmére? She is just upstairs."

Elisabeth looked up at her mother who nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I will go up with you. Your father, too, if we can find him. Come along, now."

They made their way across the room to where Percy was still talking to Gabrielle. Fleur beckoned for him to come and he excused himself from his conversation.

"Yes?" he said as he joined them.

"We are going to see my grandmére. She is in her room upstairs."

Fleur led the way up the wide, spiraling staircase to the third floor and down a long hallway. A door stood ajar at the end of it, and Fleur opened it all the way to reveal a grand bedroom with a high, canopied bed and plush chairs around it. 

"I was wondering when you would bring your daughter to see me, Fleur," a voice came from the corner of the room. All three looked around and saw a tiny old woman sitting in an ancient worn rocking chair. A large black book lay open on her lap.

"Come here, little one," the old woman said kindly. "Have a look at this. Photographs from when I was a girl, many, many years ago."

Percy summoned two chairs to the old woman's corner as Fleur and Elisabeth went to join her. Fleur immediately began to speak to her grandmother in French as Elisabeth climbed into Percy's lap with the album. She flipped through the pages, seeing France as it was nearly a century ago. There were street performers, the newly constructed Eiffel Tower, and many photos of the Beauxbatons castle and grounds.

The very last page had the oldest looking pictures of all. After carefully studying one of a Parisian street-performer, Elisabeth shut the album and looked up at her father.

"Why is that clown so sad?" she asked.


End file.
